Before I begin speaking, there is something I would like to say: There are no absolutes. I am a firm believer in optimism, because without optimism, what else is there?And lastly, does this sentence remind you of a turtle struggling on its back?
No way! Me, too! WTF turtle? WTF me? Person, place or thing and sometimes Y. I am the square root of -1. Who am I? I'll let that sink in for a moment. ...
Maybe a little more time. ... Yeah, me neither. Yesterday I had an interview. Not just any interview, mind you, but the MOST AWKWARDEST INTERVIEW WITHOUT EXPOSING A BREAST OR FARTING EVER. It was a second interview. The first one went well, and I was asked to come back and speak with the founder/owner/CEO man. A man named Lou. A nice man. A nice man named Lou who proceeded to tell me that the company I used to work for ripped him off, that the company I used to work for is unethical and bad, a bad, bad place and how could I have worked there and am I bad, I must be bad, how could I not be bad, am I bad? Who's bad? And then he took a phone call while I sat there wondering if the interview wouldn't go better if I did fart. You know, just to take the focus off the stench of my previous work experience.
Epimenides was a Cretan who made one immortal statement: all Cretans are liars. It is commonly supposed that self-referential paradox arises when one considers whether Epimenides spoke the truth. However, if Epimenides knew of one Cretan (other than himself) who is not a liar, his statement is a lie (because he asserts all) even though it correctly describes the speaker as a liar. Who's on first? I don't know, but Lou the nice man boss guy essentially asked me if I am unethical, if I am a liar. And I said no. And then we shook hands and I descended up Escher's staircase, on a road to nowhere, let's take a ride, the end is nothing, am I bad? Who's bad, and I have the urge to grab my crotch and shriek ee-hee-heee! (That was a Michael Jackson reference in case this is getting a might bit too oblique.) (Also Michael Jackson-y? The very term self-referential paradox makes me think of inappropriate touching, one glittery glove, things that make no sense, like a nose that looks more like an ear on a man that is a boy that is neither black nor white nor green all over.) WTF turtle? I don't know. I just. Yeah. So I came home and let Zoey do my makeup because that made sense. Because that is beautiful. Because that is the truth.